The Music of A Human Heart
by Shan Jeniah
Summary: When Captain Archer's interest in the monastery at P'Jem results in a hostage situation, T'Pol is torn - between her people and her human crewmates, between an understandable mistrust of their volatile Andorian captors and an illogical mistrust of the Vulcan monks, between peace and violence, between logic and a fear of vague images and feelings that make no sense.
1. Chapter 1 P'Jem

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _ **I don't own them; I'm not sure the converse is also true. No balance was added to my credit chit. All done for love, not money.**_

 _ **This is a missing scene story from "The Andorian Incident". It occurs after Captain Archer has decided to go to P'Jem, and T'Pol's conversation with Phlox. It attempts to deal with T'Pol's strange behavior during this episode, and ties it into the folara she experienced during her prior stay at P'Jem, which she doesn't fully remember until "The Seventh", so I suppose this can be said to be a spoiler for both episodes.**_

 _ **Head canon: Things got - interesting, and maybe a little dangerous - on Rigel Ten, when TnT shared a cell...more on that in future stories. Also, Trip and T'Pol met at Fusion night club, about fourteen months before Enterprise's launch.**_

 _ **There is likely to be more to this story, if people are interested. And, as always, reviews, criticism, and conversation welcomed, even if it takes me a while to get round to them, due to the writing! =)**_

 _ **P'Jem**_

"I know you don't want to take the Cap'n and me to your precious sanctuary, you know."

T'Pol repressed the sudden urge to startle, and focused on holding her tea mug steady. She wouldn't reveal that she had heard neither the Mess Hall door opening, nor scented the room's new occupant. Long practice allowed her not to shift her expression, but to meet the human engineer's blue-eyed regard.

Trusting herself to speak, however, would be an illogical risk.

Her silence did nothing to deter Commander Tucker. In his typical fashion, he seemed to take it as an invitation to continue. He gathered his white beverage from the dispenser, and came to stand behind the chair opposite hers. "What I don't know is why."

T'Pol found the barrier the table provided most agreeable. However, the Commander placed his drink on the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. His scent came to her strongly; she resisted the urge to breathe it in deeply, even as her heart rate accelerated with apprehension. There was little logic in her autonomic response to him; there never had been.

The room was empty at this late hour, and human custom as she understood it dictated that he find another seat, or ask her permission to sit. She considered mentioning it, but decided against it. She had only been on _Enterprise_ for nine weeks and three days. It was quite possible that she didn't fully grasp the variables for this manner of social interaction. Human customs seemed to be as malleable as their perception of logic, and Commander Tucker seemed to be a particularly unpredictable specimen, even for his species.

Trip – no, she must not think of him by that name. Chief Engineer Tucker simply kept talking, as though there could be no reason she would prefer solitude, or as though she had answered him. "Is it that we smell bad?"

T'Pol said nothing. There seemed nothing logical to say; he wouldn't likely understand her reticence when she didn't understand it herself. She understood her fascination with how he would respond to her continued silence even less.

He lifted his glass, making the same small gesture of salute he'd made in a restaurant in San Francisco. T'Pol considered the implications, then returned the gesture with her mug of tea, as she'd done the night they first encountered one another. Perhaps it would suffice, and spare her the need to decipher the still-unfamiliar and complex terrain of casual human conversation, which seldom seemed to have any direct point.

"Or is it that you just don't want to be seen with a shipful of illogical humans?" She should have taken into account that Commander Tucker had often evidenced a most unsettling desire to, in his words, 'see what really makes you tick.'

Now he tipped his head, and T'Pol found his gaze compelling. Perhaps she should leave, or at least look away from him, but she chose not to. It was possible that she, too, wished to know what made him tick.

"I've got it. It's not the Cap'n,at all, is it? It's _me_. That smarts, T'Pol. Just because I held a phase pistol to your head, and got myself with child by putting my hands in a box of pebbles, you think I don;tknow how to behave myself."

"While those incidents do contribute to a pattern of behavior, Commander Tucker, neither of them concerns me as much as your behavior in the Decontamination Chamber."

He had been about to drink, but instead set the glass down, perhaps somewhat more forcefully, as his face shifted into an off-center smile, Allowing herself to wish that she hadn't allowed him to distract her into speaking of that incident served no purpose.

"Well, now – I'll admit to being a bit too forward in Decon, Sub-commander." He stroked his hand over his mouth; she was learning that the gesture often accompanied him saying something impulsive and illogical. "I'd apologize about that, except that, as I remember it, there was a certain pointed eared lady who was about three layers of clothing and one impulsive human who also happens to be a gentleman from losing her supposedly unbreakable control in a pretty damned unforgettable way, back there on Rigel Ten." His voice was quieter, and there was a certain roughness in it that made it even more appealing to her, and T'Pol attempted to hide her struggle for control through the expedient of her mug.

Perhaps he would have introduced the topic in any event, but to have him know that she thought of those moments, of his hand slipping below the cloth of her undergarment, or caressing her ears, or the feel of his cool skin and firm muscles beneath her exploring fingers, the shifting in his scent and his blood flow, was unsettling. To know that he had been the subject of her incomprehensible lapse of control when they were incarcerated together. He was correct. She would have mated with him, had he not assisted her in finding some equilibrium against a primal response she'd never before experienced.

"Hey, T'Pol, are you all right?" The note of concern was a catalyst; again, paradoxically, he was both the cause of her agitation, and the solution to it. "Are you afraid they'll know what you almost did back there in that cell? That they'll – I don't know – make you do penance for your wicked emotional ways, or something?"

Something in his words triggered a flash of something that wasn't memory - hands, and terror.

"T'Pol? Hey, listen, I was only kidding. I'm not going to tell them – or _anybody_. Whatever ever happens - or _never_ happens between us – a gentleman doesn't talk about private matters. Your secrets are safe with me, no matter what. Here, let me get you some more tea. Do I smell chamomile?"

Whatever the sensation had been, it was gone now. She focused on her companion, who seemed poised to leave. She didn't want him to do so; however illogical, there was something agreeable in his presence. T'Pol breathed deeply, centering herself.

"I'm grateful, Commander Tucker, but there is no need for concern. You need not trouble yourself on my behalf."

"Yes, I do. I keep telling you, T'Pol. I'm a gentleman. You don't have to admit it, but you're really bothered about going to this Pajem place."

"P'Jem," T'Pol corrected automatically. It helped, somewhat. "It's a monastery inhabited by a non-violent monastic order, and nothing more."

He rose, and busied himself with getting another mug. "Chamomile tea, hot." He half-turned back to her, and said, "Don't think I don't know you're a faker."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't have the knack for lyin'. So, what is it about this place, really? Are you going to get in trouble for taking us there? Because, if that's it, you can talk to the Cap'n, or, if that's too much for you, I could talk to him for you, tell him we're gonna get you in hot water."

Had she been in trouble, when she visited P'Jem before? Something – there had been something, but all she remembered was a long succession of restful days, after she'd come to know she no longer wished to work in the Ministry of Security.

 _Hard cold stone beneath her; she was trapped against stone. Hands and faces -_

"T'Pol? Hey, you're worrying me now."

 _Hands,_ _stone, faces,_ _and_ _alien_ _words. Murky, as though seen at the end of a warp field. Not memory, not dream.…_

 _Real._

 _Not to be ignored._

"T'Pol – talk to me. What is it? You can't tell me it's nothing. I already know you to well for that. You're white as a ghost, and you look like you just saw one."

That sense snapped away; leaving her to rub her hands over her arms.

The familiarity in his tone was too agreeable, and her own desire to speak of this to him provided the impetus she needed to regain at least surface control as he came to set the tea before her, watching her closely. Dangerous- what she felt for him was dangerous. She must repress it. She must restore her barriers, as the High Command's protocols demanded of her.

"It's far more likely that you don't know me a fraction as well as you think you do, Commander Tucker. My personal feelings, if I had any, on the visit to P'Jem would be irrelevant to the mission the Captain has ordered. More, my personal life is no concern of yours, nor will it be, in future."

That much was certain; her wedding date was swiftly approaching. There was no place for what they had shared, or what she might wish to share with him, in a Vulcan life.

Koss was her future. Commander Tucker was -

T'Pol didn't know what he was to her, or she to him, or why she concerned herself with it. She rose,and walked away, without parting words. It required a great deal more discipline than was logical to keep from remaining, and telling this most perceptive human of the fleeting impressions that danger awaited her at P'Jem, and that she simply didn't want to return there.

It wasn't until she returned to her quarters that she realized she was carrying the tea he had procured for her.


	2. Chapter 2 Observations

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _ **I don't own them; I'm not sure the converse is also true. No balance was added to my credit chit. All done for love, not money.**_

 _ **This is a missing scene story from "The Andorian Incident". It occurs during the scene with the Vulcan transceiver and the blanket Trip refuses. It attempts to deal with T'Pol's strange behavior during this episode, and ties it into the folara she experienced during her prior stay at P'Jem, which she doesn't fully remember until "The Seventh", so I suppose it can be said to be a spoiler for both episodes.**_

 _ **Head canon: Things got - interesting, and maybe a little dangerous - on Rigel Ten, when TnT shared a cell...more on that in future stories.**_

 _ **There is likely to be more to this story, if people are interested. And, as always, reviews, criticism, and conversation welcomed, even if it takes me a while to get round to them, due to the writing! =)**_

 _ **Observations**_

T'Pol watched Commander Tucker covertly as he bent over the damaged energy packs, no doubt taking full advantage of a rare opportunity to explore Vulcan technology that hadn't been labeled 'classified.'

There was no logic in wishing she was beside him, now, where she could breathe in his unique olfactory signature, and use her focus on it to block out all others. There was also no logic in the undeniable fact that she had grown unaccustomed to the scent of her own species' males, to the point where the cumulative effect of the twelve monks, Captain Archer, and the lingering notes of their Andorian captors was moderately nauseating.

Nor was there any logic whatever in imagining herself and the Commander back aboard _Enterprise_ , safely away from P'Jem. If she were given another chance to do so unobserved, would she choose to share with him the strange sensations and resistance she had felt since Captain Archer decided that they should visit this retreat?

Wishing and imagining were inherently illogical activities. One ought to live with intention, but, when there was no way to move forward toward the goal, intention must logically be adapted or discarded. Therefore, she must set aside the fact that he was only four meters from her. T'Pol knew she was being closely watched, although the monks appeared to pay her even less attention than they bestowed upon her crewmates. Whether logical or not, she felt the intensity of their scrutiny, and their judgment, which found her lacking, perhaps even suspect.

Logically, the cause was sufficient. She'd brought the humans here, to a Vulcan sanctuary. Perhaps it was desecration, of a sort. None had addressed it directly; that wasn't the Vulcan way. However, they hadn't invited T'Pol to meditate with them, and, when the Andorians brought simple food, she was not included in their communal meal, or even invited to share water. Both of her human companions had been included. The Captain had accepted, but Commander Tucker had declined – politely, but definitively, choosing to eschew the company they refused her.

She had wanted to sit with him, to offer her own meager company in appreciation of what he had denied himself. However, she was too conscious of the non-focus of the monks, and her own illogical mistrust of them. She wouldn't reveal her attachment to this particular human, because it was a vulnerable tangled place in the pattern of her life, and she wouldn't have it turned into a matter to be examined by others, when she had so little understanding of it, herself.

It was a certainty that her collusion and ease with the humans was already being judged. The monks' behavior suggested that they considered her tainted by human emotion, and responsible for bringing a primitive species here to observe them, and, in so doing, exacerbating the difficulties they were experiencing with the Andorians, who viewed their presence here, and _Enterprise's,_ as proof that this was more than an ancient sanctuary.

Was it?

A listening post would be a clear violation of treaty. There was no logic T'Pol could discern in breaching an agreement that had brought, if not peace, at least a cessation of open hostilities between their two peoples. The skirmishes had brought loss of life and injury on both sides; the treaty prevented further damage.

Logically, she must consider the possibility that the Andorians were correct, and that, despite the apparent illogic of such an action, there was indeed a listening post here. The Imperial Guardsmen had searched all visible areas of the sanctuary, twice before, without results. Their abuses of the Captain made it clear that they had yet to discover anything untoward in this investigation. She had seen nothing that suggested another purpose to P'Jem, unless one were to count the transceiver, which according to Commander Tucker's comment to the Captain, was 'just about a fossil.'

The transceiver unit was located in catacombs that were hidden from the Andorians' scans.

The monk known as Sektin had directed Commander Tucker; there was something in his manner that suggested secrecy. Perhaps, as they said, it was only to protect the items of cultural significance that were stored there, and their honored dead.

But, logically she couldn't discount the possibility that there was more hidden in the catacombs than one would expect in such a place.

Like a stone slab, and a secret chamber where hands held her down, and voices chanted words she couldn't understand?

T'Pol only narrowly succeeded in repressing a shudder of fear and revulsion. She couldn't repress the need to crouch in closer to the wall, hoping for nothing more than to be forgotten. Perhaps, if she could speak privately with Commander Tucker, the inexplicable symbiosis of ideas that often occurred between them might provide a plan, or the beginnings of one. Certainly, his relaxed manner would assist her in reclaiming her equilibrium. But she would give the monks no further cause to make a study of her, if she could prevent it.

As though he was capable of sensing the direction of her thoughts, the engineer looked up from his work, his eyes scanning the room. He was standing watch, even now; perhaps that was why he was still adjusting the energy pack? She watched his regard travel from one monk to the next as they began to settle for a deep meditation that the humans would likely perceive as sleep. He returned his focus to the work for a moment, then regarded Captain Archer with a slight frown. The Captain was obviously in pain, and there was nothing he could do to ease it. That was certainly disturbing to him; Commander Tucker seemed to have an intrinsic need to see to the well-being of others. It was not always logical, but T'Pol found it soothing when his gaze came at last to her.

She lowered her lids enough that he would think her eyes closed; she didn't trust herself not to communicate, through a shared regard, the degree to which this human intrigued her. Still, she could see that he watched her, his expression puzzled in the way it had been when they were attempting to modify _Enterprise's_ sensors to detect plasma decay. He was an engineer; perhaps his desire to help others, even a Vulcan, was part of what made him exceptionally qualified for the position he held.

He had known she was troubled, last night. His questions and presumptions had been somehow threatening, and her own responses to his concern more so. She had retreated behind the remote persona humans seemed to expect from all Vulcans, and denied his understanding and his overture of deeper connection.

Could she go back, now, she would perhaps tell him of the hands and the faces that were neither dream nor memory, but no less real, in her sudden remembrance of them.

But the Vulcan Science Directorate had determined that time travel was a logical impossibility. She was here, on P'Jem, and she had said nothing. She could neither undo that, nor return to the place where she might speak with him where no others would hear.

The young monk who had led Commander Tucker into the catacombs approached him, carrying a folded blanket. "There is one to spare," he said, but the engineer replied that it would only get in his way. But T'Pol was certain that there was another, unspoken reason. There were three visitors to P'Jem, and only one extra blanket. He wouldn't accept a blanket while another went without.

Trip kept a watchful eye on the room and its occupants while he puttered with the Vulcan transceiver's power pack. This was the first Vulcan technology he'd ever had the chance to study, even if it probably ought to be a museum piece. He was damned well going to learn all he could about it while he had it. Besides, he'd figured out a long time ago that people tended to ignore him when they thought he was working.

Well, _most_ people, anyway...

T'Pol was huddled up, arms around her knees, watching him, even though she closed her eyes every time he looked at her. The way she was acting made him nervous. There was _something_ going on with her in the Mess Hall last night, and whatever it was was still eating at her. She was all hunched up against the wall, not talking with anyone, like she wanted everyone to forget she was here, or like she'd given up on ever getting out.

Damn. He ought to have kept the blanket Sektin offered him, so he could give it to her. Maybe it wouldn't help, but she looked so damned alone, and he wanted to make this easier on her, whatever the hell 'this' was. When he was little, he liked to hide under blankets when life got too rough. Might help her feel a little safer, too, and it would for sure keep her warmer than her thin uniform could.

Every monk but the leader was making a point of ignoring her, even though they weren't treating him or Jon that way. T'Pol herself hadn't initiated a conversation since they got here. Now, she was far from what anyone would call chatty under the best of circumstances, and her grasp of small talk was just about nonexistent, but she wasn't usually anything like the silent waif in the corner. He remembered her at the Suliban helix, when she'd come up out of the Cap'n's chair at Warp 5, hitting him with a double-barreled 'specious analogy'. If he hadn't backed up fast, she'd've run right into him, because he was sure she wasn't going to back off, not one hair.

Trip just wished he knew why the most confident woman he'd ever met was acting like a scared little girl with no friends, and why he got the idea that there was a whole lot more to this than he could guess at or maybe even understand. Last night, he'd thought she was on the edge of telling him, but he must have pushed too hard, or said the wrong thing, because she'd shut down tight, walked away – and she was still all closed off -

Except that she was watching him back, from under nearly closed lids, and he thought maybe she was hanging on to him, somehow, like she had in that Suliban cell. It wasn't going to keep her warm the way the blanket would have, but it was something, maybe. He decided he was going to keep a close eye on her, but not in an obvious way – she seemed way too uncomfortable around these monks, like maybe she thought they were judging her for consorting with lowly humans.

Or maybe she was embarrassed to be seen with them. That thought stung a little, but then again, he and Jon had both been pretty vocal about their displeasure at her being assigned to them, in the beginning, so it was only fair to cut the lady some slack.

Sektin gave the blanket to Jon, who started right in badgering T'Pol to take it. There was something relentless about Jon Archer when he made his mind up, but it couldn't even begin to compare with T'Pol's brand of stubborn. She refused outright. No surprise there. Even now, she was going to play Tough Little Vulcan. Not that she didn't have every right to. On a good day, she could probably take out four armed Andorians all by herself. These blue guys were mighty agitated, but they didn't seem to be any stronger than your average human, and they weren't the size of Klingons, so she'd have the advantage.

And that meant that this _wasn't_ a good day for T'Pol.

But Jon seemed to miss that altogether. He'd decided she needed to be under that blanket, and he was overriding her desire not to be. If she wouldn't take it for herself, she was going to share it with him. Even when she bluntly told him, "The cold is preferable to the smell," he didn't get the message, or didn't accept it. He all but ordered her under with him.

Jon was Trip's best friend, and his commanding officer, but that didn't mean that he couldn't be an ass sometimes. A gentleman would never order a lady to sleep with him – even fully clothed in a hostage situation. Certainly not if she'd already told him he stank. He might leave the blanket there for her, and he might offer her his body heat, but gentlemen didn't make issues of those kinds of things.

But Jon did make an issue of it, with all those Vulcans here listening with their superior hearing, and then he made it all worse when he got his way, and actually insulted her people as though he thought he was in command here, and then questioned her loyalty, when, up to now, she had sure as hell been more loyal to them than they'd been to her.

Jon was Trip's best friend, but when T'Pol told him tartly that she'd never disobeyed his orders, then turned her back on him, taking the blanket with her and leaving Jon without, Trip had to put his hand over his mouth to hide his grin.


	3. Chapter 3 Leaning In

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _ **I don't own them; I'm not sure the converse is also true. No balance was added to my credit chit. All done for love, not money.**_

 _ **This is a missing scene story from "The Andorian Incident". It occurs some time after Captain Archer questions T'Pol's loyalty, and apparently loses his right to half of a shared blanket as a result. T'Pol has fallen asleep on the floor near him, and Trip has just finished puttering with the transmitter assembly. Although there's mild suggestiveness and language, it's a pretty tame, getting-to-be-friends-maybe kind of story.**_

 _ **Head canon: Trip and T'Pol first encountered on another at Fusion, when she explored human entertainments. Things got - interesting - on Rigel Ten, when TnT shared a cell...more on those in the future.**_

 _ **This little story will continue (in a manner of speaking), with at least a prequel chapter, and possibly a continuation from this point, if people are interested. And, as always, reviews, criticism, and conversation welcomed, even if it takes me a while to get round to them, due to the writing! =)**_

 _ **Leaning In**_

The stone floor was cold. Too cold. Cold, and hard.

T'Pol tried to rise.

Hands held her down. Strong Vulcan hands. She couldn't free herself.

She struggled; the hands didn't let go. Too many, holding her down against the cold hard stone -

"Hey, T'Pol, take it easy. You're dreaming – do Vulcans have nightmares, cause this sure looks like one – ow!"

The force holding her down was flung away, and T'Pol sat up, the hands now gentle, one against her back and the other on her shoulder. She drew a deep, unrestricted breath, and registered a scent that soothed her lingering disorientation. "Com-" Her voice broke raspily, and she sagged, leaning in, letting him support her.

"That's it, just rest a minute. Wherever you were, you're not there anymore."

"Cold stone. Hard. Hands – holding me down -" Had she meant to speak?

"Yeah, sorry about that. These floors do get mighty cold at night, and it wouldn't be too much to ask that, if these blue fellas wanted us all in here, that they at least give us some mats to lay on. Didn't mean to hold you down; I was just afraid your thrashing might hurt the Cap'n."

She felt the engineer's capable hands. Capable, but not strong enough to hold her, if she struggled. "Not you. Other hands – many hands?"

"Sounds like a helluva dream. No wonder you were fighting them."

"Did I – injure Captain Archer?"

"Nope – he's sleeping like a baby. So are the monks. Nobody awake but us chickens."

"Chickens?" A shudder went through her; it was almost intolerably cold, sitting on the floor.

"Human slang. It means, 'just the two of us'. Here, you wrestled your blanket, but I think it'll forgive you, under the circumstances." He attempted to tuck the blanket around her, but his hands were shaking.

"You are also cold, Commander."

"No logic in denying it." He smiled at her. "But I refuse to take a lady's blanket, even if she has pointed ears, no grasp of chivalry, and orders me to. So please don't."

"Would you consent to – sharing?" She was uncertain about human behavior in such situations.

"You didn't seem to be very happy about sharing with the Cap'n."

"Captain Archer ordered me into close physical contact. I am a Vulcan; such actions are never an issue of command authority among us. We value – choice – in such matters." Only when his scent shifted, his smile deepening into what she had heard Ensign Sato call a 'grin', did she know that she had made an error in judgment.

"So, you won't cozy up to the Captain, but you will me, hmm? Should I take that as a compliment?"

"If you wish. My motives are perhaps simpler. We are both awake, and cold. Moreover, you profess to be a 'gentleman'; I choose to allow you this opportunity to prove it."

That brought fascinating new changes to his demeanor; his scent was most agreeable. "Well, then, milady of the pointed ears, your challenge is accepted. And, just to prove that I mean what I say, I'm not going to leave you here shivering on the cold floor." He released her, then unzipped the top of his jumpsuit.

"Commander -"

"Hang on a minute." He stripped off the shirt he wore beneath the uniform, then shrugged back into it and zipped it again. "It's not much, but you need to be warm, and you're wearing less than anyone else here." He spread the shirt upon the floor. "A couple of centuries back, a gentleman would place his jacket over puddles so his lady's slippers didn't get wet. I guess a tunic on a cold stone floor fits the profile."

"It wasn't necessary." The shirt smelled like him, and T'Pol found that comforting. "But it is appreciated."

Trip watched as she shifted over to sit on his shirt. Somehow, her accepting it – and him, when Jon's company hadn't been her cup of tea at all - made him proud.

And right now, being proud might turn out to be damned inconvenient.

She's not a carnival prize, Tucker – but she _is_ a helluva desirable woman, and it's not like this isn't a damned titillating turn of events. Better try to do whatever it is she does that keeps all her feelings in those tidy little boxes of hers…

No, he wasn't going to think about that Suliban cell, or Decon, or Fusion. Or how he'd treated her in that cave. He was just going to share what warmth they could find together, as crewmates -

Jon started to roll over, and groaned, but he didn't wake up. He was going to be stiff as hell in the morning, and Trip wished that he could talk his friend and these agitated Andorians to let him take the next round. He wasn't naive enough to think that there wouldn't _be_ a next round; these guys weren't the type to just give up, not if they'd already been here twice before. Not with the way they'd bashed the door in.

"We should give him the blanket," T'Pol said quietly. She was back in mother hen mode; definitely one of the more endearing qualities of the real live T'Pol he'd totally missed in his fantasies. Then again, his fantasies didn't exactly cast either of them in parental roles, even if they had been doing all kinds of things that could theoretically _make_ them parents…

"You'll be even colder, if we do. He's asleep; you're not."

"Perhaps, Commander, I'm also a 'gentleman'. I don't want the blanket, if it will offer greater comfort against his pain." She paused as she handed over the blanket. "If we lie face to face, we'll be able to conserve more of our mutual body heat in the most critical areas."

Trip had to bite his lip to keep from getting worked up at that suggestion. Good thing he had the blanket. He fumbled and stalled while he carefully draped it over the Cap'n, who murmured something and half-opened his eyes. "Go back to sleep," Trip told him softly, and Jon sighed and for once was the one taking orders.

"You care a great deal for him." He turned to find that T'Pol was watching him, her arms wrapped round her drawn up knees.

He shrugged. "He's my best friend, and my boss. Don't know that I would've gotten my job without him."

"You are an excellent engineer. However, you don't care for yourself nearly as well as you do those around you. Come lie down, Commander."

"Is that an order, ma'am?" Maybe teasing her would give him something else to focus on, because, at the moment, he was getting a little too interested in the way she smelled – that orange blossom and woodsmoke scent, with hints of hot springs and desert.

"I wouldn't order you, Commander Tucker. I assumed that you found the arrangement preferable to enduring the cold, but if you don't -"

"T'Pol, I was just teasing you." And stalling, but he wasn't sure she'd understand that at all. "Maybe it would help if you didn't call me Commander all the time. Or at least, not while we're conserving body heat."

"I see no logic in that, Command-" Despite her words, she cut herself off, then said, very quietly, "Trip."

"That's better." _More_ than better, actually. His name sounded just right in her voice, in ways that weren't helping him tame his wild imagination. He sat down beside her, slowly wrapping one arm around her shoulders, letting them both get used to the idea. "I know it's not logical, T'Pol but then, I'm not a very logical guy."

She turned a little, and her arm crept around his back as she nestled into him, her cheek and ear pressing into his chest, then pulling away sharply.

"What's wrong?" He answered his own question. "Oh, damn. I haven't had the chance to shower or change my clothes, and I was down in those catacombs. I understand if the smell's too much for you, with your nasal numbing agent worn off and all."  
"I'm not troubled by your scent, Com -Trip."

Well, that was a bit of a revelation, but it didn't explain her pulling away, either. "Then what is it?"

She placed her head back against his chest, and sighed softly as she tipped her chin to look up at him with those pretty hazel eyes wide. "I have never before heard the music of a human heart."


End file.
